Man, I have to keep this updated! My name is Mike Wigal. Now I'm 64 and live in Petaluma, CA sharing an apartment with my son, Mick, and granddog Luquillo. I still travel a lot and ponder a lot. I hope to share this journey with you if I can get over my laziness and temptation to post my rapier-like wit on the hated Facebook instead of here. Welcome!

About Me

A man of many words. Profane, profound, loyal to a fault and a right rat bastard. I love the finer things in life: expensive cigars, cheap women and all the salted, cured meats I can eat. A friend to dogs, lover of humanity and despiser of people. If I were King the world would be a better place, because, well...I would be King! Oh, and I like ice cream.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

D-Day

Tonight (or actually this afternoon) is my dinner-date. Hence D-Day. The feeling leading up to this is strangely familiar. I think I remember this feeling.

Thirty-some-odd years ago, when I was a young paratrooper, I would get this same sense in my gut leading up to a jump. You went through all this rigamarole getting prepped for the jump. Make out the manifest, get all the troops assembled, move 'em down to Green Ramp, check out the gear, practice the parachute landing falls (PLFs), get the gear on, load into the back of a smelly, noisy aircraft (all bunched up and uncomfortable), get the last minute commands from the Jump Master, wait for the green light. Go! Sweet release when your Main opened. Land in one piece. Walk away.

It's the same with this. Like this I volunteered. Like always I question myself for volunteering. Like always I'll be happy to walk away in one piece.